


Chalk Hearts (Melting On A Playground Wall)

by Itisjustmyself



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Heartbreak, M/M, Sad Ending, Song fic, artist!Phil, musician!Dan, phadom big bang 3, tw: depressive mindset
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5054119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itisjustmyself/pseuds/Itisjustmyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pad of paper is propped up on his knees― disheveled hair and traces of charcoal on his cheeks and nose. His eyes are fixed on the paper as he gazes out distantly, his tongue peeking out from pinkish lips. Dan manages to catch a glimpse of the paper on his knees. He is drawing. The charcoal still in between his fingers and Dan watches as a copy of this world appears on the blank paper, a better, more quiet, black and white version of this world. He feels like it would all be easier if everything was just black and white, only ever yes and no, no grey, no maybe, no in-betweens. </p>
<p>or: Dan is an musician in search of the perfect song that will make all his dreams come true. But caught up in daydreams, he just might lose the most important thing in his life without even realizing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chalk Hearts (Melting On A Playground Wall)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I can't believe this is finally finished. I've been working on this for half an eternity now and it's finally done.  
> This fic was written for the PBB3. If you don't know what it is, check [here](http://phandombigbang.co.vu/).
> 
> This is heavily inspired by the song Kayleigh by Marillion and I really recommend you check it out. It's old, but good. 
> 
> I want to send a huge thank you to [Mary](http://vulpeslester.tumblr.com/), who drew the most beautiful art I could have ever hoped for. The pieces are included in the story where they fit, but you can also find them [here](http://vulpeslester.tumblr.com/post/131698134044/by-the-way-didnt-i-break-your-heart-please), [here](http://vulpeslester.tumblr.com/post/131698131539/do-you-remember-the-cherry-blossom-in-the-market) and [here](http://vulpeslester.tumblr.com/post/131698128464/do-you-remember-chalk-hearts-melting-on-a). I can't thank you enough for the effort you put into all this and really, I love it so, so much. 
> 
> And of course, also a huge thank you to [Bethany](http://realityisnoplacetolive.tumblr.com/). Without you, this story wouldn't have gotten finished, it would still be a mess of brakets and weird thoughts pieces and not even resemble english. You did a lot and helped me so much and I'm just incredibly thankful for it all. 
> 
> All in all, this PBB has been stressfull and hectic and sometimes I just wanted to hit my head against a wall, but then again I've rarely had so much fun with anything else. It was a great experience and I can't wait for next year!
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy (and maybe leave me a little comment down there)!
> 
> Disclaimer: I claim no ownership to the song 'Kayleigh' nor to Dan Howell and Phil Lester. This story is completely fictional. I make no profit from it. Any mistakes are my own.

_**Do you remember, chalk hearts melting on a playground wall?** _

_** ** _

The sun is burning hot on his skin as he slowly lifts his gaze from the piece of paper he has been scribbling on, a lot of smeared ink and more crossed-out words than ones he actually likes. The grass beneath his feet is almost yellow due to the fact that it hasn’t rained in weeks and the people around him seem too lazy, too tired to move at all. Maybe it’s the heat, but even the children on the playground to his left aren’t running around the sandpit and screaming their lungs out as usual.

His gaze travels throughout the small park, always in search of ideas, in search of inspiration. Inspiration for that one freaking song, that song that’ll be the right one. That song that will pull him out his boring and common life and propel him straight into Hollywood, where he’ll lead a life surrounded by blinking lights and beautiful people. But as usual, he finds nothing but lazy kids, dry plants, mothers droning on and on, the sun burning down from the dull sky.

Absolutely nothing. Except, maybe him.

He is sitting against the wall on the other side of the playground. It’s a boring wall separating the playground from the rest of the park, nothing but dull, grey bricks. A pad of paper is propped up on his knees― disheveled hair and traces of charcoal on his cheeks and nose. His eyes are fixed on the paper as he gazes out distantly, his tongue peeking out from pinkish lips.

Dan has never seen him before, which is odd because he knows pretty much everyone around here because, it’s not like a lot of people spend their days in a tiny park in the middle of nowhere. Too long―way too long―he’s already been stuck here without even a glimmer of hope on the horizon .

Of course, he has written songs in the past, but he has always felt there’s been something missing. They hadn’t been right, haven’t been perfect and perfection is what he really needs from this song.

Suddenly, Dan notices that he has been staring at the darker haired male for quite some time now, and when his eyes focus, the other guy is waving at him, a huge grin on his face.

Dan hesitates for a second and then he gets up, stuffing paper and pen into his pockets and picking up his guitar. Somedays it feels as though that guitar is the only thing that keeps him sane. Music has never disappointed him.

He doesn’t know what it is exactly that he’s doing right now―maybe he’s beginning to grow desperate with his search―but he walks over to the stranger and sinks down on the ground besides him.

“You’re new around here.” Dan doesn’t ask it as a question; he knows the answer.  

“Yeah. I’m Phil,” he answers, and Dan manages to catch a glimpse of the paper on his knees. Phil is drawing. The charcoal is still in between his fingers and Dan watches as a copy of this world appears on the blank paper, a better, more quiet, black and white version of this world. He feels like it would all be easier if everything was just black and white, only ever yes and no, no grey, no maybe, no in-betweens.

“Dan,” he replies to the unspoken question, and Phil smiles and maybe this world is after all a better one, because he is in it.

Slowly Phil turns his head and looks straight into Dan’s eyes. “You’ve got some... er... charcoal on your face,” he manages to stutter, distracted by the beautiful face in front of him. Phil is all straight nose, high cheekbones and long lashes -- so much prettier than any male should be. Dan shocks himself by how his fingers slowly wander across those cheekbones. He almost expects them to be sharp as glass, but they are covered in extremely soft skin. He wipes away the dark colour with one quick brush of his fingers. Phil doesn’t shy back and Dan is almost surprised that he doesn’t break beneath his hands because really, he seems way too fragile for this world, too beautiful to even exist. But when Phil reaches out for Dan's face to push the hair out of his eyes and the play of the muscles in his arms is all he can see -- well, maybe he isn't as fragile as he seems.

And everything’s quiet again--the children exhausted beneath the shimmering heat--and Phil leans in. His lips are one big contradiction--hot, cold, harsh, soft, slow, fast--and they burn their way into Dan’s skin. He tastes the blood  when Phil bites his tongue and feels the ache when he is dragged closer by his hair.

The ground is uncomfortable--hard and uneven beneath his skin--and he feels little pieces of stone cut into his hands. It is a strange angle and the air's way too hot, but stopping is impossible. Whether he can't or just doesn't want to, who knows. Not him, that's for sure. Either way, it's impossible.

The lack of oxygen is a burning pain in his lungs and somewhere, in the back of his mind, something tells Dan he should pull back. He doesn't know anything about this person, not even his last name. But he doesn't.

Finally Phil pulls back, smiling again, takes the charcoal (which must have fallen to the ground at some point) and turns so he faces the dull, grey wall . He produces  a few pieces of colourful chalk, and seconds later he is drawing against the wall.

The tree, which is in the middle of the park soon appears on the wall. It's a large, old oak, with thick branches and millions of leaves--a perfect portrayal of the reality, even though it is behind Phil's back and he can't see it right now. When the tree is done, he pulls out the black coal again and starts drawing hearts in different sizes onto the trunk. It should be sappy and stupid, but somehow it's just fucking beautiful. Both of their names appear in a slightly cursive writing in the biggest heart and then Phil jumps up, ruffles Dan's hair, grins at the other boy, and is gone.

Time passes. The summer loses its green colour and autumn brings red, yellow and brown into the world. Dan watches the leaves fall from the oak and children throw them around as they bury each other in the colourful mess. Every day―every single day―he goes to the park. He goes there and waits for Phil to return, but he never does. Dan knows it's stupid--he doesn't know him, they've barely met, but yet...

And then the sky opens its gates and it pours. It pours and pours and pours,rain splattering down onto the ground for the first time in months, and Dan watches as the chalk hearts melt away on the wall. They melt away and with them goes the memory of the fragile boy with the charcoal smudges on his face,erased from his life like the chalk from the wall, one by time and one by rain, but really what's the difference?

 

_**Do you remember, dawn escapes from moonwashed college halls?** _

It's in the middle of the night,or probably more like fucking early in the morning, when Dan stumbles out of the music room. His neck hurts from where he fell asleep on top of the piano last night and his bones feel stiff. He's tired, although he has just woken up (but if he’s honest, he's been tired for a long time, a really long time). Summer has passed and he's back in uni, listening to the same lectures pretty much every day. It is boring most of the time (but then again, what doesn't bore him?), but at least he gets to make music here.

The moonlight has tinted the walls around him a dark grey colour and the silence is all-consuming. It's kind of funny how different the halls, which are normally bursting with sounds and colours , are at night. The moon takes all the colour, and lets it vanish, and Dan feels calm. Well, at least as close as he gets to calm.

His steps echo in the empty hallway;a dull beat to accompany his thoughts. He still hasn't found his song. He wants to find it--he needs to find it.  He needs the song like he needs air to breathe because this life just isn't for him. He wants to live off his music, to breathe it, to eat it, to be the music. It is all that has ever been steady for him, all that's ever been there. He needs it.

Suddenly he notices the sound of steps besides him and it seems really strange that he was able to miss it before. He turns his head and catches sight of him. It's like the memories (blue, blue, blue like the sky above) are suddenly (charcoal across his cheekbones) back (smile, so bright it lights up the world) in his (lips, soft, hard, hot, cold) mind and he remembers it all.

With only the moon to illuminate them, Phil gives him a smile, and Dan thinks that somewhere the sun must have just risen. "Hey,”he whispers.

"Hey," Dan answers. Maybe he should wonder why Phil is suddenly here in the middle of the night, what he's doing in uni, or why he has never seen him here before... but he doesn't.

Phil is carrying a pad of paper again, but this time there is a pencil between his fingers and once again, Dan can spot the black colour spread out across the paper.

He watches the light catch in Phil’s lashes and on his cheekbones and wonders if he's dreaming . They walk--the moonlight on their faces, hiding too much and yet not enough at the same time--through the uni halls, and somewhere along the way they start to talk about random things. Their topics vary from their favorite bands to books to what they did that day. Their voices cut through the silence. Deep and husky clashes with high, soft, and velvet. It shouldn't fit, but it does.

Five minutes later, they have crossed the whole school building and reached the back of the cafeteria, where the little back door that Dan has a key for is. He turns around and looks at Phil , catching the other’s glance. He doesn't want to leave. It is late―he should head home and get some sleep or else he'll regret it the next morning―but he just doesn't want to leave.

And it's like there's no time passing at all. One moment he's standing there, his gaze set on those pinkish lips, and the next he's on the floor, with Phil’s lips on top of his. And it’s like the last time. His brain can't really decide what he's thinking right now (except good, good, so fucking good and don't stop, please don't stop, never stop) and he just really doesn't care what is happening around him.

They pull apart and sink down onto the floor . At first they just look at other in silence, chests heaving along with their breaths as reality slowly sinks back in.

It sinks back in like it always does, because really there’s no escape from it, no matter how hard you try.

Somehow Dan falls asleep again and is only awoken by the time the cafeteria lady starts her shift. Sunlight shines through the windows, only a few rays that manage to find their way through the thick layer of clouds,. He sits up, rubbing his sore back. Phil is gone now, gone like the light of dawn that shimmered through the corridors  in the last seconds before he fell asleep. Dan likes that comparison, the idea that Phil is very much like light and catching light with just your bare hands just is impossible. And once again he has escaped from Dan, vanished from reality like dawn once the sun comes fully up. But dawn returns each morning. It always comes back; it is never gone forever, is it?

 

_**Do you remember, the cherry blossom in the market square?**_

_** ** _

 

The market square is crowded with people. It’s strange that so many people have nothing to do in the middle of the day besides to walk across the market square. Dan slowly makes his way through the crowds, paper and pen ready in his hands. After all he’s still looking for inspiration, or maybe he just needed to get out of the tiny, stuffy flat and away from those walls that seem to be closing in on him more and more. Recently it feels like he’s always in searching and by now he’s asking himself if that’s all his life consist of. The babble of voices presses onto his ears and the impressions are exploding in front of his eyes and really there’s so much here, so much he could write about, but nothing fits. Everything around him is boring and dull in its colourlessness, all the noise senseless and futile, nothing, really nothing that catches his interest, nothing that fascinates him.

Slowly he walks on and watches the others around him. He watches as a small blond girl tugs on her mother’s sleeve, begging for a treat from the nearby bakery, and he watches how an annoyed looking office-worker storms down the sidewalk. Everybody is always moving as they carry on with their lives; only Dan seems to be stuck.

When he passes the window of a small bakery, he suddenly notices how empty his stomach is. This has been happening more and more in the last few weeks, he’s so caught up in his search and it makes him forget everything else. He wants to live off of his music―it is meant to be his everything and all that is important in this universe―but he keeps forgetting that it doesn’t fill his stomach.

Dan enters the small shop and the waiter lifts his head. He feels like he can’t trust his own eyes when he sees the incredibly blue orbs looking back at him. He’d thought he’d never see them again. And yet, the beautiful, fragile, and mysterious Phil is back again.

Phil smiles brightly at him and Dan is sure that he can hear the angels singing in the sky above. Phil holds out a hand, motioning for Dan to wait as he fusses around behind the counter. Dan doesn’t even think twice about compling and so he stands awkwardly in the corner of the shop, waiting for what will happen next.

A couple minutes later, Phil walks around the counter. His apron has disappeared and he’s wearing a jacket over his shirt. He takes Dan’s hand and Dan can’t help but wonder if it’s possible that Phil is always the one taking the first step. Together they leave the shop, slowly walking across the market square, past colourful booths which suddenly don’t seem that dull anymore. Phil’s hand is warm against his skin and Dan can feel the spots of paint on his hands. When he looks more closely at Phil, he notices splashes of white and pink in his jet black hair―it looks a bit like flowers blooming in the middle of the night.

And finally, they get to know each other . Phil talks and Dan learns more about the other boy than the fact that he’s always covered in paint. He learns about his older brother and how close he is with his mum. The conversation helps Dan calm his racing mind and gives him a better feeling about the whole situation. Now that he knows more, he doesn’t feel as much of a creep; his fascination with the other boy isn’t so unfathomable. It helps, it calms, feels nice.

And it’s only when Phil starts to ask him questions that he notices how empty his own life is. All he’s got is his music and until now he never thought he might need more. But then Phil starts talking about his art and Dan notices that he’s almost as obsessed with it, as Dan is with music.

By now, they have reached the tall cherry tree in the middle of the market square and are leaning against its trunk. Their hands are still tightly intertwined and Phil leans in and kisses him slowly, soft and tender. Dan stretches towards the sky and picks one of the blossoms from between the leaves. With a soft smile he places it in Phil’s hair―it is exactly the same hue of pink as the paint splatters―and Phil smiles back.

When the sun sets that night behind the horizon, Phil is sitting beside him on his sofa. And by the time the blossom starts to wither, he’s still here, right beside him in his life. Phil is the first constant that ever existed besides Dan’s music. And Dan can’t help but be happy, or at least as closest he can get.

The boy with the charcoal smudges on his face, the paint splatters in his hair and galaxies in his smile stays with him and honestly, that’s closer to perfection than he’s ever been. Phil is always there, a continuous melody in his live and Dan’s almost content.

Although the real blossom has long withered to dust, the sketch of the fragile blossom that Phil drew that night is still on their wall. And Dan still can remember the excitement and joy he felt that night when he watched him draw it perfectly. Every time he looks at the drawing, it is still as radiant and beautiful as it was on the first day. He looks around their shared apartment with all the little memories in every corner and can’t help but feel like this has to be a reason to hold onto the belief that there is beauty in this dull and dead world.

 

_**Do you remember, I thought it was confetti in our hair?** _

He still can't fathom it, that he is really sharing his flat with someone. Amazing, gorgeous, unique Phil is still here and Dan just can't believe it. Nobody has ever been able to stand him for more than a few hours, but somehow Phil manages and Dan thanks the heavens every night for his little miracle.

Meanwhile, Christmas is drawing close and Dan is still excited when he realizes that this means that they’ve been together for such a long time by now. He’d be glad to curl up on the couch with his guitar as Phil paints, but Phil has different plans. Dan hesitates, thinking about the still unfinished song and all the work he could do, but finally obeys and follows his boyfriend out the flat. They’re huddled up in coats and scarves but the breeze outside still chills Dan to the bone.

Phil drags him across half the city without having any goal in mind and Dan watches the people and cars go by with disinterest. It’s loud and bright and chaotic and for a second he almost regrets agreeing to go outside, but then again he gets to spend time with Phil and that’s always good. He still can't, even after all this time, figure Phil out. He’s like a puzzle Dan can’t solve, can’t even begin to understand how he’s supposed to work it out, but still, he is as fascinated by Phil as he was the first day. The curiosity still hasn't faded the tiniest bit and Dan sucks up every little, tiny piece of information about Phil. He listens to every word and watches every movement, always hoping to find a clue that will solve the mystery that is Phil.

On the one hand he is annoyed by himself  for giving so much of his attention to Phil instead of investing it in his music like he is supposed to. But somehow he can’t help it, it is like a force and he can’t stop trying to figure it all out.  And then there's those moments when Phil looks at him and Dan feels like he's looking at more than his face. Phil can look at him and make him feel naked, open and unprotected with just a single glance. It seems as if Phil knows everything there is to know about Dan, and Dan can’t remember ever telling him. It's almost as if he can read minds, but Dan knows that that can’t be the case.

This feeling of another person knowing him better than he knows himself keeps him awake at night. It’s not like he has ever slept much, but recently it has gotten worse and worse. He feels like he barely ever closes his eyes. But no matter how many thoughts he invests in the enigma that is Phil, he can never understand Phil the way the beautiful boy understands him. He can’t comprehend anything that is happening in Phil's brain and it frustrates him incredibly, but there's nothing he can do about it. He could fill an album with all the songs he's written about this frustration, but not one, not a single one has been the song he’s looking for.

The air is cold and he can see his own breath rise upwards in small, puffy clouds, but when Phil turns around and smiles brightly at him, Dan feels warm again. It feels as if the sun’s rays are breaking through the thick blanket of clouds above them and are warming every inch of Dan’s skin.

They have reached a market square and for a few seconds he wonders whether it’s the one where they first found each other again. But then Phil catches his attention as he rushes across the area towards a group of teenagers. Dan first follows the other with his gaze and slowly heads after him. The group is acting out the Christmas tale, he decides after a few minutes. It is not in the usual way, as nativity play, but a complex mixture of dance, vocals and music.

Dan watches the children, filled with fascination and admiration. He still remembers when he was that age, fresh from school and filled with hopes and dreams for the future. It’s sad to think that most of these hopes have died a slow and painful death by now.

The art that the group is creating is unique, gorgeous, breathtaking, and he can't help but absorb every second of it. After an amazing eternity, the group starts to bow and the people around them break out in applause. His hands are still busy clapping―it has been a while since he was this amazed and happy about anything―when he realises that Phil's fingers are covered in black paint. The black haired man is holding his sketchbook, still opened, in his hands. On the white paper, Dan can see a perfect drawing of the blond dancer that embodied an angel. Her eyes are closed, her face relaxed, a smile on her lips, and the shape of her body is blurred by movement. It seems impossible for Phil to have just drawn this when the dancer didn't pause for a single second? Dan doesn’t understand how he was able to produce such a perfect copy of her, when she didn’t stand still for a single moment.

Dan can hardly pull his gaze away from the photolike drawing and so it is only after quite a few moments that he lifts his head and looks at the person next to him. He notices white splatters in the ink-black locks and smiles.

“Look, confetti,” he whispers, and Phil starts laughing, a joyous, happy sound. At first he’s confused why, but then Dan realises that, in reality, his “confetti” is snow that has started to fall from the sky in the past few minutes and he really can’t help but laugh along with the other boy. Phil slowly leans over and kisses him softly on the lips before grabbing his hand and walking on.

The air’s grown colder. An icy wind is echoing through the streets, freezing their fingertips and toes and noses and Dan knows that the responsible thing to do now would be to go home. But his hand feels warm where it touches Phil’s and there is this amazing feeling somewhere in his chest; it is a feeling he can’t really place, but it’s warm and comfortable and so he doesn’t pay it much attention, but just keeps walking through the snow.

And the snow keeps falling from the sky in soft, tiny pieces and Dan thinks about how it’s going to melt soon again. He is surprised when he feels the ache of fear in his chest when he thinks about how everything ends someday and how he really doesn’t want Phil to melt away one day.

 

_**Do you remember, barefoot on the lawn with shooting stars?** _

The grass tickles against his bare feet as he walks across the lawn towards the bundled up figure sitting at the edge of the cliffs. On the way, Dan lets himself admire the texture of the grass. It’s a lovely feeling to walk across it and it is something he doesn’t get to enjoy often, so he cherishes it.

They’re on holidays in some small village. It’s cheap, and old, and not really all that great, but it is all they can afford right now. He softly sinks down beside the boy, placing a ratty, old blanket around Phil’s shoulders and scooting up close to him. Placing his head on the other boys shoulder, he takes a deep breath. The air tastes salty and fresh, quite a bit like freedom. For a second he considers speaking up as he watches the waves crash against the cliffs below them. The dark water with the foamy tips looks alien this late at night. He finally decides against interrupting the silence, which lays like a thick blanket over them. It’s nice the way it is right now. The two of them rarely talk much, both people of silence who prefer to express themselves through their art.

They’re on holidays and it’s wonderful because he gets to wake up next to Phil every morning. And usually, Phil is still asleep and Dan gets to watch him for a while and sometimes he feels like there is so much more to Phil than just a person. Sometimes he feels like Phil is endless and everywhere and like he is all around Dan. And as he watches, he gets this fluttering feeling in the depth of his stomach, like there’s a million little airplanes in there that are all taking off the ground at the same time. He wants to write an abundance of songs for Phil and then scream them from the cliffs at the tops of his lungs until his voice gives out. He feels like he would lay down the world at the feet of this wonderful human being, he would tear down mountains and part the seas and rearrange the skies, all just for Phil.

Dan feels like Phil just might be the best thing that ever happened to him and like he would do anything to keep him close. He feels this a lot and thinks it even more, but he never says a word.

They stay right where they are on that cliff, watching the waves and the skies as the night slowly creeps up on them. And as Dan watches the darkness fall, he wonders about how strange it is that you never notice it getting darker step by step, but only suddenly, when the light has disappeared.

He scoots closer to Phil and the blanket, the breeze that’s always going here cooling his skin more and more, but the grass is still strangely warm beneath his feet.

“Do you ever wonder why we’re here?” Dan asks, after a silence that seemed to last for all eternities. It feels weird to destroy the peacefulness and quietness around them with his words, all unpolished and questioning, but he can’t help but speak sometimes.

The question he’s just asked Phil though, has been something that’s kept his mind busy for a while by now. He often asks himself if there is such thing as destiny and fate. He doesn’t want to believe it, but in some moments, it feels like it would be stupid to doubt it, because how else is he supposed to explain that he found wonderful, amazing, breathtaking Phil again and even got to keep him? It seems megalomaniac even, to think that there was some reason for him to deserve Phil, some reason for the other man to stay with him, because rationally speaking, it never even made the slightest bit of sense for them to be in each other’s arms and company here in this universe. How can he believe that it made sense for them to find each other between millions and millions of other people in a city as big and swarming as London?

“Look." That single word is all Phil replies, and so Dan follows the other’s gaze to the sky. Suddenly the night seems to be gone as millions millions of shooting stars fly through the darkness. Dan remembers reading about shooting stars and how they’re actually meteorites, just pieces of rock from outer space that burn once they enter our atmosphere. It’s strange how something so wonderful is actually the burning ruins of another’s disaster. They fly across the sky silently and Dan watches as they illuminate the night, painting shadows across Phil’s face. It is making Dan once more wish that he could draw the way Phil can, just to keep those moments alive forever.

“Make a wish,” Phil whispers suddenly, and Dan can see he has his eyes pressed closed, his little nose scrunched up all the way he sometimes does when he is thinking really hard about something.

Dan hesitates. It is stupid to think that those flaming meteorites have any kind of power to influence the universe, as large and vast and difficult as it is. When he sees Phil’s soft smile though, lighting the night up a whole lot more than the shooting stars ever could, he gives in, closes his eyes and sends his wish into the heavens. Maybe he will get lucky. Maybe, just maybe, he will finally get lucky enough to have his greatest dream fulfilled.

Afterwards the sky is dark and empty again as the night takes full control once more. It’s dark and all-encompassing as always and Dan feels glad how certain things stay the same for all eternity.

 

_**Do you remember, loving on the floor in Belsize Park?** _

They’re at a party some friend of Phil’s hosted. Dan has never met him before and watches in surprise how a whole flock of people talk to Phil, exchanging jokes and smiles as if they’ve known each other for ages, as if they’re  the best of friends. How can it even be possible for him to not know people that played such a large role in Phil’s life? It seems ridiculous ridiculous to even think about it.

When they walk home in the early morning, their cheeks flushed with alcohol, they stumble through Belsize Park. And really, Dan would have expected the park to be empty this late at night. Why would someone spend their time out the in the cold? But all around them are even more people, bottles and cups clutched tightly in their hands as they dance beneath the flickering light of the stars.

Dan’s always hated the stars in the city―they never seemed nearly as clear and bright as they should, all hidden behind clouds and smog and smoke. The dull music is hammering through the huge boxes placed around the area and Dan can feel his heartbeat match the bassline, which seems to rattle his bones and shake his core.

Phil smiles brightly, gripping Dan’s hand and dragging him right into the middle of the people, until they’re surrounded from all sides. Then he turns and Dan can see the wonderfully bright eyes that sometimes seem like everything colorful in this world. Phil starts moving slowly, speeding up more and more to match the music and Dan allows himself to be dragged into the thrill of the music. He’d follow Phil anywhere, when he really thinks about it.

Their bodies move faster and faster together, matching the rhythm of all the people around them, and Dan can feel the sweat drip down his back and neck. He hates the feeling, all sticky and wet and disgusting, but when he catches sight of Phil, face lit up with so much joy all at once, he doesn’t complain and keeps moving, anything to keep the other looking like this.

Somewhere along the endless stream of music, they got closer and closer and when Dan finally notices, Phil is turned around and rocking against his hips, head dropped back against Dan’s collarbones. The air feels thick around them, stuck between all these people, heating the night up, and every breath Dan takes come ragged. His fingers run along Phil’s chest, feeling the bones and muscles move beneath the soft skin.

“Come along!” Phil almost yells into his ear after a while of dancing.

Nobody but Dan hears though―everybody else is way too lost in their own little words, everything downed out by the ear-splitting music. Dan lets himself be dragged away from the people, all through the park, until the music is nothing but a vibration in the ground, and when Phil then turns around and looks at him with eyes as dark as the night, Dan understands. He can feel the heat coil in his stomach as Phil pulls him close, letting his hands disappear into Dan’s shirt as he leaves kisses and bites all down the younger’s jaw and neck.

Dan is hesitant at first (they’re still in the park after all―in a very public park where anybody could walk in on them at any second) but soon it all seems unimportant and his hands trail down to Phil’s hips.

They kiss for a couple of minutes, all messy and with too much tongue and teeth, lost in the rush of the night, too far gone to care about anything but each other. There’s a grassy area beneath a couple of trees close to them and Phil pulls Dan over there. Shortly after they’re lying on top of each other in the grass. It’s wet and pretty uncomfortable and Dan wonders if it wouldn’t be better if they...

He loses his train of thought as he feels Phil’s hands unbutton his jeans. By now, he realises, he is straining against the fabric of the tight jeans he’s wearing and while the night air is ice cold against his naked thighs, he’s glad that Phil removed the constraining fabric. He fumbles with the other’s jeans too, ridding Phil of them a whole lot less fluidly.   

Their hips are moving against each other, both desperate for friction, when Phil slips his hand into Dan’s boxer shorts, wrapping the cold fingers around Dan, who in turn lets out a shaking breath. It feels good, very good when Phil slowly begins tugging and twisting. Dan rushes to get a hold of Phil himself, wrapping his hand around the hard dick of his boyfriend.

The hand jobs they give each other there on the park ground aren’t the best, (it is hard to move skin over skin without any lubrication) but they make do and when Phil comes, he breathes those famous three words into Dan’s neck. Their position is uncomfortable, the grass is wet, his back hurts from the hard ground, but still Dan reaches his own climax only seconds after the words leave Phil’s mouth. He feels them bubbling through his veins and echo in his head and he really feels like flying and screaming and dancing.

He does none of those things though. Instead he stays there on the ground and lets himself be pulled close to Phil as they both come down from their highs, waiting for their fingertips to stop tingling and for their breath to slow back down again.

It is only later, when they hear voices coming closer, that they finally get dressed again, their bones stiff with the cold of the night as they rush from the park, laughing with the adrenaline of almost being caught rushing through their bloodstreams.

Dan is still awake when the sunrise creeps up behind the buildings of the city, Phil fast asleep next to him, and as he watches this night come to an end, he wonders about life and how all things, no matter how wonderful, have to end.

 

_**Do you remember, dancing in stilettos in the snow?** _

It is loud, and hot and there’s a million people around and the word uncomfortable doesn’t even begin to do any justice in describing the way Dan is feeling right now. Phil has been working at some small gallery for the past months and had begged endlessly until Dan had agreed to accompany him to the gallery’s Christmas party. And of course, Dan had finally given in. How could he not do what wonderful, amazing, magnificent Phil asked him to do? He hadn’t counted on Phil being dragged away by some beautiful, long-legged blonde co-worker the second they stepped through the door though.

Now Dan is left all along, leant against the wall at some party he didn’t want to go to, surrounded with people he doesn’t know and some eggnog he is really not interested in drinking clutched in his hands. He feels awkward and out of place, like he just does not belong here and everybody seems to know it.

After what feels like an eternity, he slinks out the backdoor of whoever’s house this is. The backyard is empty, covered under a thick layer of snow and the night’s icy cold. For a second Dan hesitates, just steps behind the door frame before he ventures forward. The Christmas lights strung all around the house and the trees in the yard reflect off the icicles hanging from the roof. Everything is eerily quiet, as if the snow has swallowed any living being on earth and is suffocating their cries beneath the white fluffy substance. The night air is biting at his skin, and he can already feel the blood rush to his cheeks in a desperate attempt to keep his body warm. He isn’t exactly dressed to be outside right now, his thin shirt doing nothing to shield his body from the cold and allowing the soft breeze to cut straight through his bones and chill him to the core. Dan doesn’t care though.This is a whole lot more comfortable than staying inside and making awkward small talk with people that don’t understand him about things he doesn’t care the slightest bit about.

There’s a swing set in the corner of the yard, stuffed in between a small shed and the fence separating this piece of land from the next. For a second Dan wonders about the people living in this house. Do they have small children that still enjoy using the swing, or are they grown up so much by now that the swing seems childish? Or maybe they’re old enough already to appreciate the little moments of childhood that this metal contraption might be able to bring back.

Dan slowly crosses the lawn, the wetness of the snow sinking through the legs of his pants until they’re sticking to his skin. He sinks down on the swing, pushing himself off once or twice until he’s flying through the air.

Of course he isn’t a child anymore and he very well knows that the swing won’t carry him into the sky, won’t let him take off and fly away, but for a moment it’s nice to close his eyes and pretend. Although, if he is being honest with himself (and that is something he almost never is) it has been feeling a lot like all he ever does is pretend lately.

“Dan! What are you doing out there? You’ll catch a cold!” Phil’s voice cuts through the silence as he sticks his head out the glass door separating the living room from the yard.

“Just wanted to get a bit of fresh air,” he replies quietly, abruptly stopping the swing by stomping his feet to the ground. The snow flies from the ground where he made contact. By now Phil has walked over to him and when he stands up on his own feet again, they’re face to face.

“It’s nice out here, isn’t it?” Phil asks, smiling softly at Dan and Dan just nods. Their hands find each other―Dan’s icy fingers wrapping around Phil’s much warmer ones like the pieces of a puzzle. If only Dan could stop feeling like there was a piece missing from their picture. Phil softly pulls at his hand, leading Dan into some kind of awkward twirl right there in middle of the snowy backyard.

“What are you doing?” Dan asks, confused. He had expected Phil to drag him back into the house, where he’d be forced to make even more awkward small talk. But Phil, as always, manages to surprise him.

“Let’s dance.” He smiles brightly, giggling a little as he wraps his hands around Dan’s neck.

“But there’s no music?” Dan points out. He doesn’t really understand why Phil would want to dance without music and in the cold, but then again, he pretty much never understood what went on in the other’s head.

“Who cares?” Phil laughs, and really, it is a bit stupid and a bit insane and it doesn’t make sense at all, but Dan doesn’t really care, because even after they’ve known each other so long, Phil’s laugh is a sound that is still right up there with all of Dan’s favorite symphonies. And so he complies, placing his hands around Phil’s waist and letting his head sink down on the other’s shoulder.

They sway together right where they are, neither of them much of a dancer, but it’s enough for a little slow dancing in the middle of the night. Dan’s hands and feet are cold, his nose is frozen, and he knows that he’ll probably have a cold in the morning, but he doesn’t care. This is nice and good and picture perfect and he feels like maybe he wouldn’t even notice if the world was to end right this very moment.

 

_**Do you remember, you never understood I had to go?** _

Dan likes to think that their relationship is going better than ever. But if he were to be honest, he’d have to admit that they’ve been fighting a whole lot more than before. But that’s just normal, right? They’ve been together for a while now, it’s only natural that they’re not wearing rose-coloured glasses anymore. The honeymoon phase is over and so they’re fighting a bit more. It is not bad, nothing to worry about, he tells himself, but sometimes when he wakes up in the middle of the night, he can help but reach for Phil’s sleeping body besides his just to make sure he’s still there.

And in the evenings, just before he falls asleep, Phil’s deep and regular breathing beside him, Dan can’t help but pray to a god that he doesn’t believe in that he won’t wake up alone.

This fear of being left alone, of Phil realising that their relationship isn’t as it was anymore, has settled deep in his bones. He can feel it flowing in his bloodstream with every breath he takes and it is all he has been thinking off for days now. On the one hand he feels like maybe it’s a good sign that he cares so much about another person that they become all that’s ever on his mind, but then again he is angry because Phil is very much a distraction. Dan isn’t as focused on his music anymore as he should be. He doesn’t think about writing his song anymore and that can’t be good, can it? Giving up his dream for somebody else seems wrong and strange.

It’s only when he gets the letter from some recording company up in Edinburgh, that he realises he might not be the only person in this relationship who is afraid of being left alone. They’re offering him the chance to drive up to Scotland for several weeks and record some demo tracks, and Dan feels like this finally might be his chance, maybe now he will get his shot.

Phil doesn’t understand. They fight and scream and there are plates being thrown around and Dan spends the night on the couch. The next day they make up with lots of kisses and tears, but never reach a compromise. Dan drives up to Scotland on his own, blowing quite a bit of their money on it, and Phil watches him drive off,  tears rolling down his cheeks.

Dan just doesn’t understand why Phil can’t just be happy for him, can’t understand how important this is to Dan, and so there’s still quite a lot of unresolved issues between them when he leaves.

And really, it’s pretty descriptive of their whole relationship. All they seem to have nowadays are fights and the moments inbetween. They yell and scream and only pause for make up sex before starting up the next fight. Their issues vary; sometimes it is jealousy or something stupid like the unwashed dishes, but often it’s money and Dan’s music. Somehow the fights all are the same. Something seemingly small will set them off and they’ll start yelling at each other, throwing things and words at each other’s heads until one of them breaks down in tears. They’ll spend the night apart, mostly with Phil in the bed and Dan on the couch and in the morning they’ll ignore the fight and kiss and make up and start the whole thing over again the next night. It is an endless, vicious circle and it leaves behind more unresolved issues than one would think might be possible.

They don’t talk to each other about it, they never do.

 

**We said our love would last forever,  
** **So how did it come to this bitter end.**

Phil’s eyes are bright against the dark sky. There’s barely any stars out tonight and the moon is just a small line, leaving everything shadowed in black and white. Dan smiles softly at the other. They’ve been laying on the ground of their tiny balcony for a couple of hours now, just watching the sky and listening to the cars go by down on the street.

“Dan?” Phil whispers suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think… that this, that we will last?”

“Forever,” Dan promises.

The dream is hauntingly vivid in his mind as Dan shoots up into a seated position. It’s just one out of several dreams he has been having every night recently, all involving the black haired man that now just isn’t a part of his live anymore. This one hurts especially bad. They’d promised forever and yet here he is, just a couple months later, all alone in the dark.

Their relationship ended in flames and ruins, imploding like a supernova all around them and Dan feels like he’s still suffering the aftershock. Even months after Phil has left him, his knees are weak and there’s this stupid feeling in his chest, like something is constantly strangling him.

The knowledge that he’s ruined the best thing in his life and that he probably won’t get a chance to turn it around again is hard on him. It is weird―he used to spend so much time alone, years and years without anybody by his side, but now that he has experienced living with somebody, it seems as if he’s not able to function on his own anymore. He has no idea what he used to do with his time before Phil and so he’s stuck. He is bored all the time, with nothing to do and so he spends most of his days thinking about Phil and feeling sorry for himself.

Dan knows he is the one to blame for the end of their relationship, more and more he realises that Phil was always the one giving and Dan had done nothing but take and he understands why Phil decided to leave him in the end. Still, he can’t help but pity himself and the boring, useless person he has become.

The thing though is, that if you had asked him two years ago if he thought love existed, he’d laughed in your face. Now though, he knows how wrong he was. He doesn’t doubt anymore that love is very much real, but he doubts that everybody is meant to find love or to keep it forever.

 

_**Kayleigh, I just want to say I'm sorry,** _  
_**But Kayleigh I'm too scared to pick up the phone.** _  
_**To find you've found another lover to patch up our broken home.** _

Sometimes Dan finds himself standing in front of his phone, starring down on the numbers and wondering whether he should call Phil. They could maybe meet over a coffee and talk and maybe they’d find a way to settle this all again. He misses him and if he ever got the chance to try again, he’d do it all different. They’d find a way to stay together.

He never picks up the phone though, too afraid that Phil will shoot him down, too afraid Phil won’t pick even up and above all too afraid Phil will have a new boyfriend that will pick up the phone. He’s not sure he’d survive the knowledge that Phil has moved on and found somebody else to spend all his time and share all his love with. The thought alone makes him sick, a stupid feeling as if there was a huge rock laying in his stomach.

He is so goddamn sorry though for all the things he did and the things he never said and just in general for being the person he is. He is flawed all over, every single little thing about him is wrong and Phil was perfect. They didn’t make sense and Dan destroyed the best thing he ever had.

He can still hear the slam of the door, the words Phil had yelled echoing back at him through the empty flat. It had been several weeks after Dan had returned from Scotland. He had recorded some demos there, spend tons of money he didn’t really have and it hadn’t helped at all. Phil was angry for being left alone all these weeks and angry because they couldn’t even afford anything but day old bread anymore. And maybe, had some form of success been the result of it all, he’d have been kinder, but it had been nothing but a huge waste of money.

So when Dan had complained about still not being able to write the fucking song he needed so desperately, Phil had exploded. He had been tightly strung these past few weeks anyway and so it shouldn’t have been that huge of a surprise that the kind-eyed man suddenly started screaming. But Dan, being the idiot he was, of course did not try to make amends and back down, and instead yelled back.

They had fought for what seemed like hours, but probably wasn’t more than a couple of minutes until Phil stormed from the living room and grabbed his jacket. Dan had followed him out into the hallway and watched as he pulled his shoes on, caught somewhere between the satisfaction of winning the fight and the sick feeling you get seconds before something bad happens and you know you’ll be the one to blame for it.

Phil had turned around one last time to look at Dan, his eyes fiery and angry, but his voice had been calm and resigned.

“If it really is the most important thing in your life, even after all this time, then maybe you should just get together with your stupid music.” And then he’d been out the door and out of Dan’s life. The door slammed shut and everything was silent again.

It was only several days later, when a friend of Phil’s whom he had never seen before came by to collect his stuff that it really sunk in. That night Dan sat on the sofa, looking around the half empty room as sobs wracked his chest until there wasn’t a single ounce of moisture left in his body. He’d fallen asleep that night right there in the living room, his knees pulled against his chest, shivering from the cold and loneliness because he really could not bear going back into the bedroom.

 

_**By the way didn't I break your heart?** _  
_**Please excuse me, I never meant to break your heart.** _  
_**So sorry I never meant to break your heart.** _  
_**But you broke mine.**_

_** ** _

Dan had always thought people were being over dramatic when they talked about feeling broken hearted. He had never believe that it was possible to feel actual physical pain over something stupid like a break up. There was no reason emotions should be able to cause anything but mental pain. It made no sense at all.

When he wakes up in the mornings and the realisation that Phil really left him that night sinks in, Dan finally learns how wrong he was. He swears he can hear how his heart isn’t beating regularly anymore. It’s out of rhythm, stuttering and fluttering like a dying bird, each beat a stabbing pain that shoots through his whole body. It is strange though; he would have thought that all there was left in his chest was a gaping, black hole. He was so sure his heart would be gone. After all, Phil had taken it with him when he left.

He still remembers how he broke his arm when he fell from the swing set at the age of five. He doesn’t remember much of the actual falling or even of the doctor visit, but there’s still a faint memory of the pain the arm caused him. It wasn’t a sharp pain like when you cut yourself, it was more dull and dark, like someone had wrapped their hand around his arm and was pressing it with all their might. He had hated the feeling because it was always there in the back of his mind. He couldn’t ignore the strange pressure and throbbing pain.

The pain he felt now was quite similar to it. He actually felt like his heart was broken and it felt quite a lot like his broken arm had. What didn’t compare though, was the intensity. While the broken arm had been quite annoying and always in the back of his mind, his heart left him lying on the floor, tears streaming down his face until his body felt void of water. The pain rendered him useless, forcing every thought he had away until it was all he could think about. The world ceased to exist―all that mattered anymore was the pain.

And what made it all a million times worse was the fact that not only his heart was broken but that he had most likely broken Phil’s heart too. He was sorry, so incredibly sorry for what he’d done, for how blind and idiotic he’d been, for all the mistakes he has made and if he could go back in time he’d do it all over again. He’d change his ways, he’d be a better man, a man deserving of Phil and he would make sure Phil stayed.

Dan had always thought himself to be a person that wasn’t necessarily social but still nice and polite to everyone, a person that’d never hurt anybody else and yet he’d done it. He had hurt somebody else in a way that was so painful and horrifying he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. And for this he hated himself more than he’d ever done before.

 

_**Kayleigh, I'm still trying to write that love song,** _  
_**Kayleigh it's more important to me now you're gone.** _  
_**Maybe it'll prove that we were right** _  
_**Or it will prove that I was wrong.** _

Dan drags himself out of bed in the morning and it feels like the hardest thing he has ever done. Recently he hates himself a lot, because now he’s left with nothing and it is all his fault. Phil is gone, has disappeared from his life without a trace and all that is left of Dan himself is a shadow. When he looks into his mirror while brushing his teeth, he notices the dark shadows and deep lines, the downturn of his lips, but what shocks him most is the empty and lost look in his eyes. It’s one of the reasons he never let Phil draw him, he was afraid of what he would see mirrored in his own face.

As he pulls on the suit jacket and the tie, he catches sight of his guitar, stuffed in the corner, covered with a thick layer of dust and sighs. Really, isn’t that a metaphor for his life? It’s not like he isn’t trying to write anymore, he does try, but he can’t even bring himself to touch the guitar again and the notebook is blank. The harsh, white paper keeps staring reproachfully back at him. If he is honest with himself, the perfect song seems even more important now that he knows what his perfect inspiration is. The answer to that question, of course, is Phil. But how is he supposed to write, when the inspiration and the perfection has left him again, slipped from his fingertips, like sand running through an hourglass?

The elevator is stuffed with people and Dan feels like all life that was left in him is being slowly sucked out of him as he spends day after day in this horrible building. A common office job had always been what he feared most. Although,  now looking back he probably should have feared losing Phil more. His money had run out several months ago though, and  there had basically been no other way anymore. He couldn’t tell himself any longer that he’d write the song, that he’d be successful soon, once Phil was gone he’d looked even more like a moron. Slowly, but surely he was beginning to accept that he wasn’t going to make a living on music. He was a failure, a loser, a mess and he hated himself for that. He wasn’t even a real person anymore, his dream was gone and his heart as well.

Sometimes he wonders, if maybe life has always been like this. How many people has he gone by in all his days, who felt like they were breaking on the inside, and how many times hasn’t he noticed it. It’s strange to think, that the pain that seems to be everything right now, doesn’t really matter in the big picture, doesn’t mark the universe like it marks him. He feels like all is over and the sun will never shine again and in truth, nobody but him even cares.

Sometimes he lies in bed at night and thinks about Phil and with the tears running down his cheeks he thinks, about how it feels like he loved Phil even back then in the playground before he ever really knew him. He’s sure he loves Phil, so sure, because what else is this feeling, so wonderful and then suddenly nothing but pain supposed to be?

He doesn’t regret meeting Phil for just one second though, in fact he’s glad that the person he fell in love with, and will now have to miss for all eternity, was Phil. His heart had made a good choice.

It is only months later that he realises, he’s never told Phil he loved him. But Phil must have known, right?

 

 

 

 


End file.
